


Sweat and Fur

by ClumsyChicken



Series: Blood and Grime [2]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Canon? what Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monsters, POV First Person, Pining, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken
Summary: Despite his better judgment, Alfred can't help but seek out his old flame and find out just how much humanity is left in him.This is a commission for redredred.





	Sweat and Fur

I massage the back of my neck with a deep sigh. My jaw is set and my stomach is tying knots on itself. Tonight's hunt has once again been fruitless. And yet, my Kirkhammer is dripping with blood, despite my attempts to keep it clean. This is not what I was trained to do. One such as I should not hunt beasts—he should hunt people. But as long as none of us know where their cursed dwelling is, pondering about it is pointless. At least hunting the beastly denizens of the streets helps protect the yet human denizens. I can do that much. Just the fact that I have to remind myself of this...

   My thoughts stop dead when I realize what I'm looking at. This area surrounding Old Yharnam is decrepit and usually quiet and abandoned. The perfect road home with little opposition after a hunt. Yet there it is. It almost blends in with the dark shadows that adorn the abandoned stables. Had its fur not danced in the light breeze like obsidian flames, I might not have noticed it at all. It's an absolutely massive beast. Many times larger than me. Were a hunter to slay it, it'd be the talk of the entire town. It would be such a conquest, most would hardly be able to believe it—and some wouldn't. It would be a vivid tale that the hunter would tell and retell until the day they died.

   And I've seen it before. My throat closes up and my stomach quivers. The memories of how it burst out of the barn in front of us, how we gave chase, how it never once attacked us and only wailed as it fled flash through my mind. I clench my hand around my sword and have to force every breath down my throat. I take one careful step at a time. Anything more would make my wobbling knees give out. I can't remember when I last felt this way, faced with a mere beast.

   I enter the stables and walk on tiptoes, careful not to crush the crunchy hay. Its eyes are closed and its mighty chest rises and falls steadily. Waking and startling it would no doubt be a bad idea. The closer I get, the bigger the beast seems. It's even larger than I remember. How it got this big is beyond me. The man it sprouted from was so short, so slight, so delicate. Then again, he was more ferocious than someone thrice his size. I swallow hard as my stomach stings from the thought. This close, I recognize the scars trailing through the fur on its face. I remember how he got them.

   Breathing shallow, I slowly sheathe my sword in my Kirkhammer. Metal scrapes against metal. The sound grates my ears. Its eyes fly open. Its ears point in my direction. It lifts its long head and stares directly at me. My breath stalls. Its pupils are slightly oval and its sclerae are bloodshot, but I still recognize those eyes. I've gazed into them more times than I can count. Suddenly, its features seem all the more human. Almost more human than beastly. It's him. It's still him.

   It rises. On all fours it towers over me. It breaks our eye contact and bolts out of the barn and across the fields, impossibly fast for something its size. With a ragged gasp, I take off after it.

   "No, wait! Wait! I'm not going to hurt you!" I shriek. It doesn't stop. I'm not even halfway across the fields when it disappears into the forest of naked trees. It blends in with the darkness so well, it might as well have turned invisible. I keep running. I enter the forest after it, eyes darting back and forth, up and down, desperately searching the shadows. I run until acid courses through my meaty legs and my breathing is ragged and painful. Placing my hands on my thighs, I stop and try to catch my breath. Tears sting my eyes. My throat feels stuffy, even when I'm forcing air through it. My knees finally give out and I sink to the ground. The moisture in the soil seeps through my white pants.

   To my left, a twig snaps and leaves scrunch. I whip my head in that direction. My stomach sinks and a fire ignites in it. A small beast lurks around the trees, its beady eyes peeled on me. It's only barely a beast, and more human than most. It bares its teeth and I grit mine and heave myself to my feet. I draw my Kirkhammer. It leaps at me. The fire in my gut erupts and rushes through me. I roar and swing the hammer with all of my might. It slams into the creature in mid-air and crushes it against a nearby tree.

 

With my hands wrapped around the porcelain cup, I soak up the warmth radiating off of the hot tea. My eyes sweep over her many shelves. They're filled to the brim with near-wilting herbs and homemade ointments and potions. I'm always decked by the many scents whenever I enter her home. They're powerful and overwhelming, and somehow all these fragrant herbs, plants, and teas manage to blend together and smell both sweet and bitter at the same time. She carries this pungent scent with her, and it covers up the stench of beasts and blood-addled hunters at the end of the night.

   Her home is so clean and yet so cluttered, it seems paradoxical. Even a thin film of dust is nowhere to be found—it's likely driven out on a nigh-daily basis. But every shelf and every corner are stacked with many tools and much equipment. Some I recognize, and others I've only ever seen here in her home. It's a feast for my eyes and the curiosity I cannot stifle.

   I take a sip of my black tea. Its heat is just right—plenty warm, but not hot enough to burn my tongue. It's not good tea, but tea is tea, and a generous helping of sugar can save just about anything.

   "I swear, he gets more stubborn every year," Eileen finishes. I stare at her slack jawed for a split second before putting on a smile and nodding diligently. She cocks an eyebrow at me.

   "And what's on _your_ mind, then?" she asks. I can't ever hide anything from her. I feel my throat close up as I try to form the words.

   "I saw him last night," I croak. She pauses and her lips curl into a smirk.

   "Which 'him' are we talking about, here?" she asks. I clench my teeth with a cold, sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach.

   "Samuel," I whisper. Her smile fades immediately. My gaze falls to the dark, warm liquid in front of me.

   "And?" she prods. I know which answer she's looking for.

   "He ran away. He was so ridiculously fast, I just couldn't keep up," I say.

   "You didn't kill him?" I swallow hard, stomach quivering, and shake my head. She hesitates with a slight sigh that I can barely hear.

   "You know he's gone, Alfred," she says with a slow, solemn tone. "Beasthood's taken whatever's left of him. The most prudent thing to do would be to finally put him out of his misery." My teeth sink into my lower lip.

   "I do know. You also know that it's—" I have to clear my throat as my voice gets mushy. "It's not that simple."

   "I do know," she says. She stirs her tea and tucks a greying braid behind her ear.

   "It's strange. He's much more wolf-like than by far most hunters I've seen turn. Besides those horns, of course. Have to wonder how he managed that, exactly," she muses. My stomach stings and the mush in my throat threatens to spread to my tear-ducts.

   "Don't," I whisper. She presses her eyebrows together, then her lips.

   "Sorry," she says. Silence reigns between us. I gulp down the rest of my tea and she takes a sip of hers, dark brown digits standing out against the off-white porcelain. Even though we're in the safety of her own home, all she's shed are her mask, her feathered cape, and her manchettes. She's very much still dressed in her hunter's garb, boots and all. Meanwhile I'm sitting across from her in my old shirt, whose buttons strain across my tubby stomach, and some woefully unwashed pants. I know better than to hope that she hasn't noticed. What I can hope is that she realizes I've had other things on my mind besides appearing well-kept.

   She clicks her tongue, which almost startles me.

   "Whatever you choose to do, Alfred," she says, rising to her feet. I mirror her motions and stand back up as well.

   "Don't do anything stupid. And don't get yourself killed doing it."

 

I squeeze his bony hips. He smiles at me, slightly showing off his crooked teeth. His skinny chest is still heaving with every breath and there's a wheeze to his heavy breathing. My hands travel down his sweaty skin from his hips to his ass. I give what little is there another squeeze. His smile widens with a quiet giggle. I've seen firsthand how creepy other people find that smile of his. It's too wide, showing off too many large teeth. I couldn't agree less. Otherwise, he certainly wouldn't be straddling my lap wearing nothing but his earrings.

   Putting his hand on my belly for support, he reaches towards the bedstand and grabs his blood cocktail. While he downs the rest of it, I mirror his actions, propping myself up on my bed and reaching for my glass of wine. I take a big gulp and put it back. Samuel licks the rim of the cocktail bottle. The second he was able to move away from wine and towards something more intoxicating, he did. I have to admit I still prefer wine.

   He licks his lips and my breathing shallows. Regarding me with a twinkle in his eye, he lets the empty bottle drop to the floor with a heavy thud. He pushes me back onto my bed, leans down on top of me, and presses his lips to mine. I can smell the sweat on his upper lip and taste the blood on his lips. I wrap my arms around his slim waist. He gently removes one arm after the other, never breaking our kiss. I place my hands back on his hips as he pulls back a little. I mouth the word 'sorry' and smile at him. He smirks back. My stomach tingles—I've seen that look on his face many times before. He shifts his attention to my neck. He places one kiss, then another, then trails his tongue over it. Shivers race down my spine, but most of my body still feels like it's made of jelly.

   "Sam... Again? So soon?" I whisper through a smile. He traces his teeth over my skin. The shivers spread to my entire body. He always did like taking a bite out of me. And he does. I feel him slowly tear off my flesh with his teeth. He sits back up, helping the chunk of meat into his mouth with his thin fingers. He doesn't even chew it before he swallows. My heart hammers in my chest. The pit of my stomach has turned ice cold. This wasn't how it happened. This wasn't how it ended between us.

   He leans in and takes another bite. This time out of my shoulder. I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't scream. I lock eyes with him. Blood drips from his mouth and chin. It's those same eyes. The intense grey gaze, the oval pupils, the bloodshot whites. I can't read his expression.

   I finally force a breath down my throat. First one, then another. I shoot up, beads of sweat bouncing off of me. I'm just as naked and just as sweaty as I was, but the room laid out before me is dark. I scrutinize the shadows. There's no sign of him, no sign of anyone. There's no glass of wine and no empty blood bottle. My heart slowly sinks. I run my palms down my face. The tears mix with the sweat and I can't tell which is which.

   I toss my blankets off of me, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and stand up. My vision blurs, but I stagger towards the window in spite of it. I throw it open, feeling the light breeze on my clammy skin. I rest my hands on the windowsill while my breathing slows. The shadows still cling to the city of Yharnam before the sunrise vanquishes them. The church towers in the distance already gleam in the early red sunlight. And he's still out there.

 

The moon hangs low and the colour of the sky is slowly brightening. My toes and fingers are freezing. My feet ache from wandering, and as do my shoulders and my back from crushing so many petty skulls with the Kirkhammer. Throughout the night, my face has worn a perpetual frown. It's only deepened with every hour as my search has turned up nothing. I'd ventured ever closer to Old Yharnam and have finally dared enter its outskirts, in what will likely be one last ditch effort out of many. Even here, there are no signs of him.

   The pyre rages in my stomach—my stomach that's empty and growling on top of all this failure. With a deep sigh, I turn on my heel to trudge back the way I came. There's simply nothing else left to do. I glare at the empty husks that were once houses as if it's their fault. Electricity rushes through my torso when I spot the obsidian flames on a rooftop at the far end of the large square. He's not sleeping this time. He's resting his huge body on a rooftop, paws folded over one another, eyes trained directly on me. His ears perk up once I meet his gaze.

   I put my hands up in front of me and angle my head down slightly. I take a few long steps towards him. But the square is large and he's at the opposite side of it. I don't get far before he rises once more. My abs tense and I bite my lower lip. When I open my mouth to shout, he inserts his long, grey claws in between the bricks in the house wall. Elegant as a cat, he crawls down the side of it. As soon as he lands on the cobblestone ground, he sets off running.

   "Wait!" I shriek. Then I realize where he's going. He darts into an old tower structure to my right. My heart skips a beat. I'm familiar with this area, and I know the top of that tower is a dead end. I sprint after him, as fast as my thick legs can carry me. I skid to a stop at the tower entrance, I'm going so fast. I catch a glimpse of a long tail going up the many stairs. The sounds of claws against marble echo against the walls. With a deep breath, I start climbing up the stairs after him. I quickly lose sight of his tail, but I can still hear those claws and his heavy footsteps. Eventually, even they cease.

   My lungs are on fire when I reach the top. Every ragged breath is a pain. I jog into the very last room. He's trying to force his long, massive face through one of the barred windows. The steel is bending around him, but not quickly enough. As I step inside, he tenses. He backs down from the window and tucks himself against the wall at the end of the room. His ears lie folded back, his eyes are wide, and his body is low against the marble floor. This close to him, I can tell that his muzzle and jagged horns are stained with blood. A low growl rumbles in his mighty chest.

   My body is frozen as well. The acid coursing through my legs keeps my breathing shallow. I didn't think this far. Every heartbeat makes my limbs shake. I swallow hard and slowly sheathe my sword in the hammer. He lowers further. As soon as it's sheathed, I take the Kirkhammer off of my back. I put it down next to me. His gaze flickers back and forth between it and me. I take a single, tiny step towards him—he still needs some space. Then I hold up my hands in front of me.

   "I will not hurt you," I say, carefully articulating every word. His pink tongue darts out to lick his snout. He just stares at me with those huge, grey eyes. The more I look at him, the more his human features peek through the beasthood. His paws aren't doggish paws at all. They're long, twisted hands. His long jaws seem awkward—stretched out like a wolf's muzzle with the length of a crocodile's mouth. The uncanny familiarity of that long face almost makes my stomach churn. It's a face that was never meant to look like this. The massive amount of long, flowing fur obscures his slender frame. Even so, it's much more powerful now than I'm used to.

   "It's me, Alfred," I stammer. I pull off a glove with shaking fingers. Then I reach out my hand towards him and step just a little closer. Let him come to me. My arm quivers so much, I almost feel like I can't hold it.

   He puts one mangled paw towards me. Then another. Inch by inch, he gets closer. He keeps his long tail tucked in between his legs as much as it can be. I can barely breathe. He slowly stretches his neck. His snout gets closer and closer to my hand. He's shaking as much as I am. Finally, he sniffs my hand. I feel his warm breath against my sweaty palm. If this is how I die, then so be it.

   He smacks his lips. His tail slowly swishes from side to side, and his muscles start to relax ever so slightly. My breath stalls when he presses the side of his enormous muzzle up against my hand. His fur is greasy with dried blood, and his lips are chapped. He watches me with an expression I can't read—if it even counts as one. The speed of his wagging picks up. He pulls his head back, takes a few steps forward, and simply walks into me. I exhale sharply. He presses his long head up against my chest. It takes all the strength my legs have left to not fall over.

   A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. Tentatively, I place a hand on his neck. He's very warm and his fur is much softer here where it's clean. I extend both of my hands to his shoulders. I give him a careful squeeze, as if we were hugging. The sound he gives off is almost a whine, but not quite. It's more like an attempt at a groan. He wiggles his immense shoulders, and I quickly retract my hands. Instead, he hides what he can of his head between my arm and body, snout poking at my cape. A hollow chuckle rocks through my torso.

   "There's the Samuel I know," I whisper. His ears twitch, still lying flat against his head. I put my hands back on his neck and head and start petting this massive beast. Scratching the fur around his irregular horns, he fully relaxes in my grasp. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. I bend over and bury my face in his fur. I breathe in his scent. I recognize the smell of wolf-like beasts, blood, and moisture—but also of the man I once knew. Standing up straight, I give him a scratch on the cheek. He untucks his face from my armpit slightly and looks at me, ears more alert.

   "Let's go home, Sam."


End file.
